


Emerald Pride and Robins Egg Blue

by DinosaurEyes



Series: Colors Collection [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: 5 + 1, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutation, Romance, Telepathy, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-13
Updated: 2011-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:09:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinosaurEyes/pseuds/DinosaurEyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Charles Xavier gives five kisses and receives one. Or, how the evolution of Charles Xavier happened, featuring Raven, Sally the Maid, his Mother, a Slut and Eric, wherin Charles thinks heavily and saves the world at a price. Charles/Eric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emerald Pride and Robins Egg Blue

Five times Charles kissed someone and one time someone kissed him.

I.

His father is home for once, which is odd. Uncomfortable, even. Charles isn’t used to waking up and seeing the man sitting at the dining room table. He clings to his bear Francis at night as he hears glass shattering in the living room, and his mother’s eyes look tiredsadlostangry in the morning when her makeup fails to cover the bruises. He sits there across from a man he doesn’t know and quietly eats his cereal. His legs are too short for their ornate dining table – mother and him always preferred to eat in the smaller dining rooms where they weren’t separated by lengths of wood and fifteen candle sticks. His father coughs quietly and sets down his paper.

“Charles.”

“Yes Father?” The man looks cold, but when the maid comes in Charles can see his father’s eyes watching her, see the little leer he gives her. The spoon tightens in his grasp while anger washes over him. Charles ducks his head.

“Perhaps it’s time we discussed a boarding school for you,” his father continued. Panic set in then. His father wants him to leave! His mother won’t be happy – why? Why does his father want him to go?

“I believe that your mother is a … gentle influence. She doesn’t really have the grit to make you into a man.” His father says more, but Charles is too busy screaming in his mind, crying out against his father. His father finishes his speech and sits there.

“Right then, I’m glad we had this talk.”

Eight year old Charles Lottner raises his head and says:

“I want to you to go away. I want you to leave my mother alone, and I want you to never come here again.”

His father’s eyes go blank for a minute and his jaw slacks. Charles panics and runs out of the room.

It’s only later, when his Mother comes in with tears of joy in her eyes that he realizes that his father has left them. His mind twinges a bit, unease at its corners before he pulls his mother into his arms and kisses her forehead. When he falls asleep that night, he dreams of endless golden fields and a red finch.

Eight-year-old Charles Lottner dies and is given a new name in a ceremony that he isn’t part of. It’s okay though, because he likes his new name better – Charles Xavier sounds like a person who’s going to be special.

II.

It’s been almost a year since his father left them, he thinks. His mother smiles more often and they go places. Most of the staff have been dismissed, the rooms boarded up. Its smaller yes, but it’s become home. There are only five of them – himself, his mother, Mrs. Parkins the cook, Sandy, the maid, and Mr. Browing the footman cum butler.

But the thing is, it’s so loud. In the last week, he can’t put together a second thought. It’s like everyone in the house is screaming at the tops of their lungs, but no one’s moving their lips. Charles hides back a shiver of fear – no one is moving their lips. Is he going insane? It’s so loud!

……that boy down the hall kissed me last night…don’t know what I’m going to do if I lose this gamble…should the beef bake some… Heat flashing as bodies slide against each other…

Charles screams, lost in the images of things he doesn’t understand. Instantly, he hears footsteps running towards him. It’s Sally – he can tell because she’s screaming in her head – Oh god! Charles!

Her voice tastes like panic and fear and he feels like throwing up because nothing and nowhere is quiet and he’s going insane and oh god –

“Charles?! Charles, are you alright?” Cool hand on his forehead, but he has to pry his eyes open to see. Her lips moved, so it’s safe to answer.

“My head hurts. It’s too loud! Please stop shouting at me!” She flusters for a minute, and he groans and curls into himself, hands over his ears. Stop it, he thinks, stop it, stop it, stop it!

She brushes a gentle kiss onto his head and rushes off, her mind filled with doctors and blood and fear. Later, he will return the gesture of comfort after he hears about how the baker’s son down the lane (john, he liked soccer and flowers, taste like sweat, why did he leave me?) gets married to someone else. But for now, he is curled up against the floor, screaming in pain.

Ten-year-old Charles Xavier learns about death and sex, love and pain. He learns a lot, but he loses his innocence.

III.

He can’t breathe for a minute – can’t believe that the girl standing in front of him is really real. She’s so beautiful, inside and out, that he wants to cry. She sits there in his room, munching on bread and cheese, dark blue against pale white. Charles can’t really think past the refrain of notalonenotalonenotalone. Dimly, he realizes that the same refrain is running through her head. But he realizes there is something he has to do.

“I control people.” He says it, really quietly, both his pride and terror mingling in it. She widens her eyes. He backtracks and realizes what that sounded like. “No! I mean, I just wanted – I would never! Not purposefully!”

 

And there’s that little flash of guilt, when he remembers cold eyes and a mustache, but he can deal with that later. He’s rambling he realizes belatedly, trapped in the panic that she might leave. His power scares him; it’s why he’s devoted his life to understanding it. And then, joy of joys, she smiles and laughs.

“As long as you don’t read my mind, we’re good,” she says. He promises fervently, ignoring the little voice in the back of his mind that taunts him. He flings himself forward into her arms and kisses her check. She giggles in astonishment and flushes a dark blue. Nothing, he thinks, will ruin this.

12-year-old Charles Xavier knows that their friendship is going to be legendary.

IV.

Twenty years have passed since then and Charles is thirty two now, and can control the voices he hears in his head now, more or less. He drinks when it gets particularly bad, finds that the alcohol blurs his mind against the whispers that constantly tease at the back of his head. Raven is almost 26, still just a child. They’d had another fight, one about him not realizing what she has to go through. Like he doesn’t understand the fear of hiding – oh, it may not be physical like hers, but his is cause of a great deal more concern. These thoughts give him nightmares, make him wake in the middle of the night and splash his face with cold water, praying that his subconscious held its grip and didn’t let his dreams slip over into Raven’s.

He controls minds. He’s known it and done it unconsciously since he was eight. He stopped doing it that terrible morning when he sat down alone across from his beautiful mother and told her all about the new sister he had. He hasn’t willingly done it since. He shudders to think what would happen if the government caught wind of what he could do, fears the day he’ll have to reveal who he is. They’ll lock him up. He is optimistic, yes, many tell him so – he can’t help but to be, because he has all the badbadwrongdirtyawful pushing on his brain but he also has the gorgeousrightbeautifullight fighting back. But he is not naïve. Never naïve, not since he was ten. He signals the bartender for another drink and sidles up to a pretty ginger-haired woman at the bar, before drunkenly starting on his mutation thesis. She’s single and interested, and listens to him rant.

“You can even theorize that someday, there will be people among us who will have to power to read and control minds,” he finishes, guiltily waiting for the colors of emotions to fill his mind, fighting past the golden hue that alcohol fills his mind with. There is the robin’s egg blue of amusement, the marigold interest, and the scarlet attraction. But behind those are the dirty brown of fear, the murky grey of uncertainty, and the black rage of anger. She tinkles a little laugh.

“Goodness, how terrifying! I don’t believe that would be safe. Can you imagine someone pawing through your secrets all the time?”

Later, when he is leaving kisses all over, he will catch snippets of thought – daddy never loved me, fat bitch, you nerd, your mother hates you- he will close his mind to hers and make her cry in ecstasy. In the morning he will wake early and walk home to Raven, making the appropriate apologies. But for now, hazy under her pleasure and the anger roiling in his gut at the world, he can think about how she won’t ever understand why he has to hide, even amongst the people he belongs to. Mutants fear just as much as regular people.

Thirty-two-year-old Charles Xavier knows that should mutants ever come to light, although Raven would be disgusting to them, he would be the one they feared and hunted down, simply for something he can’t control. Only, he knows that instead of one group, both would.

V.

Darwin is gone. Angel left them for a monster. Charles has failed them on so many levels. And yet, Angel’s betrayal hurts more, almost. At least he knows that Darwin died a good, strong man. Brave, even in the face of death, according to what he gathered from the others’ minds when they let him, little soothing strokes of his power over theirs. Where did he go wrong with her? Had he missed some basic element to her personality? He has always prided himself on his ability to read people, gleaned from years of other people’s experiences – that French spy in the bar, for one, had been most interesting to talk to and study. Charles had only really noticed him from the absence of thought the man had. And yet, how had he misread her? He finds himself doubting his abilities, even as they travel towards his old home. The children – for they are children – are so young. Even though he is (was) only two years older than Darwin, he considers himself the adult in their little group.

Well, him and Erik. Moira, lovely though she may be, is a little too focused on the impending disaster to be able to contribute that much, which is how it should be. She has a beautiful mind, and maybe if she had approached him a week ago with the bright orange appreciation he can taste in her mind, he would have gladly slept with her. In a way though, he is grateful that she didn’t, for she is a good friend.

Erik is also a good friend. Scarred though, broken, twisted, hateful yes. But a good friend. Charles finds himself liking him against his better judgment. Finds himself laughing silently from little jibes that the man makes. But he also catches Erik watching him, catching the little moments when he snorts quietly, even though he shouldn’t. And then the pride that blazes from that man’s mind is emerald green and astounding. Troubling, though. Food for thought though, certainly. For the brief couple of weeks they’ve known each other, Charles is scared to realize that he feels like Erik has been around since forever. Not even Raven slipped this quickly into his heart. He’d like to think the blame rested solely with the fact that he had read Erik’s mind, coupled with the pressure they’re under, but he knows the reason is much deeper than that.

Charles shields don’t fall. Yet somehow, he wasn’t able to hold onto his control and had felt his mind go sliding through years of memories and emotions. There’s a difference between entering with permission and not- the reason why he doesn’t go prancing through people’s minds willy nilly, regardless of his moral and ethical beliefs. It tastes wrong, feels odd, like he doesn’t belong. Oh, he could convince them that he does, but he can’t burn away the ash of a mind subconsciously rebelling against his. Erik’s mind hadn’t resisted him, had opened bright and sharp before him, filled with so much painangerhatehatehatelovegriefguiltsorrow. It had hurt, but at the same time, Charles had breathed a sigh of relief, because he – they – weren’t alone.

Certainly something to worry about, he muses, as he drops a kiss onto Raven’s hair.

Thirty-four-year-old Charles Xavier is falling. He’s falling in love with these people who he’s just met and he has to carry their hopesdreamsfearsthoughtsanger on his shoulders. But he isn’t scared, which is scaring him in itself, because it feels like Erik is going to catch him.

His mind hurts. A coin has just been drilled though his brain, but he can still feel the other man’s screams in his mind. He had had to make a terrible choice. Shaw would have killed Magn- Erik, had he let him go. Charles had been forced to listen as his death screams echoed in his mind. Had felt the coin slide butter smooth through his brain – can still feel it. Dimly, he realizes that Moira is screaming at him in worry, which is ridiculous. Charles is fine. Shaw is the one who is gonegonegone.

His mind had gone from white pain to nothing. Charles is vaguely surprised when his cheek lands on the floor and he catches himself gazing up at the wreck of the submarine sideways. There’s a dead man in there, he thinks hazily, ignoring the thump of Moira’s knees as she lands heavily next to him. I helped him die.

The submarine explodes outwards and the two groups walk wearily back. And then, Shaw is floated out through the hole, and he feels more than hears Moira’s fear. Blearily, he opens his eyes. Magne- Erik, God damn it. Erik is floating. Dizzily, Charles has to congratulate his friend’s control. Closes his eyes though, when the body is dropped unceremoniously to the ground. He had heard that man, felt his last thoughts. He can still feel Moira slapping at his face. He realizes she wants him to stand. That is damn irritating, actually. After everything he has to do, she wants him to stand and walk out there to face the man who drove a coin through his brain?

Charles would much rather stay here and go to sleep, pretend that the last couple of hours didn’t happen, go back. But then, he remembers Erik’s rage. Remembers the innocent people on those ships.

Charles pulls himself up on two legs, and staggers out of the plane. He has to shield his brain against the poisonous green pride he feels curling towards him. Vaguely, he hears Erik tell him to check the ships – feels like crying. His mind is splitting in half, and Erik wants him to read people miles away? But is Erik, so he raises two fingers to his forehead and attempts to push out.

Charles can’t think against the pain. Can’t push past it. Eric takes his silence as acquiescence though, and carries on with his speech.

Hatred. Hatred and fear and pain. Viciousness and revenge. It’s a badawfulevil cycle. Charles never wanted this. Belatedly, he realizes that the others had joined only at Eric’s offer of vengeance, not his of acceptance. Charles had only wanted to help people – that girl who cried, because every time she screamed lightning struck the buildings, or the little boy who wandered around with a cane because he was afraid to open his eyes. There are people out there in the world who need his help. Not this message of anger and hate against humans who could have been parents or friends. Eric doesn’t realize that sometimes people don’t have choices in life. Doesn’t realize that even good, innocent people do bad things. They aren’t black and white. The world isn’t black and white. Mutants sure as hell aren’t black and white. It isn’t a question of with or against. Does Eric not realize that by continuing this cycle, he is only starting what killed his mother again?

Charles doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want any of this. So, he lowers every single shield he has and then he draws on every source of power he has, and blasts the human’s minds. Wipes everything, leaves only the impression that the Russians fired on their own ships, and the submarine and plane were actually just the remains of an incredibly brave fight between the two. Neither one survived, it was tragic. Someone is screaming in the background, which is irritating because no one realizes how tricky this is, rewriting something like this. Then he pushes out further, further and he’s going to die it hurts so much, but it’s okay because he’s going to make sure people stay safe. He reaches the White House, and then Russia, travels along their brainwaves and paths. Feels them forget that mutants even existed. He saves Moira though, even if he can barely feel her against all the other minds out there – feels she deserves to remember what happened.

And then, all of a sudden, it’s done. Charles hovers out there for a couple of seconds and its feels like eternity, before the screaming he hears begins to perpetrate his mind again. Then he is slammed back into his body and the painbuthisisn’tpainit’sfireandit’smeltingandohGodohGodohGod fries his body. He realizes that he was the one screaming, feels it in his throat muscles and hears it in the minds of the others, which he just can’t take. He’s crying now, full on sobbing, but he can’t let know his pain, can’t let them know how bloody tired he is because they need him to be the adult one last time and he can do this for them so he erects one last pitiful shield and just….lies down. Crumples, really. Falls to the ground and looks up at the sun. And then Eric is there. But his eyes are coldfrightenedworriedscaredlost. Charles needs to make it better.

“Okay,” he croaks, watching as Eric eyes widen.

“It’s okay. They won’t hurt you. Safe.” That’s it, Eric needs to understand. Needs to understand that he’s finally safe from everyone.

“Mutants – they won’t… remember,” he’s coughing up blood now, which is a little disconcerting.

“No one… is going…to…die anymore.”

There. That’s it. He’s done. He smiles once at Eric before he begins to slip into that blessed darkness. But then he feels lips press heavyhot to his and his eyes fly open once. Eric is crying, he realizes with a jolt. But he’s also kissing Charles. Charles can just catch the frantic whispers at his mind – stay with me, don’t go, I’m sorry, oh god, I need youlove you, staystaystay.

Thirty-four-years-old and one kiss richer, Charles Xavier laughs at the man he loves and asks through heavy lips if he really thought Charles was going to leave him behind.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is my first drabble in the wonderful wonderful world of both Archive of our own and Xmen: First Class. Nothing of either belongs to me, and I wish the respective owners well. you can expect to see me here flailing around for quite some time.
> 
> Kudos go to the fantastic Rachel, who voluntarily took upon my writing and grammar and fixed it. Many many thanks!


End file.
